Rescue
by harleyquinn990
Summary: A series of drabbles, currently under works. Avengers saving Avengers, mostly friendships and maybe some ships if you really squint
1. Chapter 1

_Drabbles, I love Steve/Natasha friendship. I guess Clintasha if you squint. _

* * *

Steve burst through the wooden door to the Lord's bedroom, taking it off its hinges in his hurry towards the bed. Clint had taken care, or still was taking care of all the security downstairs, but Steve focused on his part in the plan.

He launched his shield towards the man on the bed, looking hungrily down at the figure on his sheets. The soldier followed up by promptly tossing the yelling man out his third story window.

"Natasha?" He asked breathlessly towards the strewn sheets and blankets on the bed, tanned skin peeked out in some places with bright red strewn across the pillows. Steve gently placed a hand on her bare shoulder as a warning, the redhead's breathing heavy and her eyes unfocused. "Natasha, look at me."

The assassin blinked as if she just realized where she was. "Paralytic." She breathed. Steve clenched his jaw and snorted out a breath of anger.

"It's okay." He told her, though most to himself. "We're getting out of here." He moved around the bed to wrap her up loosely in a white blanket, gathering her in his arms. Steve carried her bridal style, Natasha's head resting on his chest as he jogged throughout the mansion. Old paintings and chipped wooden halls made the place look too sophisticated for what happens in the bedroom. "Barton!" Steve barked through the main staircase. "I got her. Let's go."

* * *

"Hold on!" Clint shot back at him through the com, picking up his fight in the kitchen. Man, these fucking guards were everywhere, no wonder this guy hasn't been straight up murdered yet. Hides behind a wall of bodies. Which Clint was literally giving him, right then. "Almost done!"

He shot another arrow point blank from where he perched on the counter top, swinging his bow around to smash another agent in the face. The last one was out of his line of sight, Clint knocked an arrow and loosely tugged on the string as he rounded the corner.

The attacker's plan of shooting him from behind only half worked.

Clint spun as he heard the shot, things tending to seem like slow motion. His back tightened and locked.

The string tensed.

Slow breathing.

Exhale.

Relax the hand.

Time continued and the arrow shot itself through the last one's chest, seconds after the bullet ripped through his calf.

"Fuck!" Clint cursed and shouted. Steve crackled through the com again. "I'm alright."

* * *

"That didn't sound like it." Steve scoffed, continuing his path on the gravel driveway to the car. Natasha flexed her hand.

"Clint-"

"He's fine." Steve told her, looking over his shoulder as they reached the car. Natasha wheezed, he took it as a laugh.

"He's lying."

Clint burst stumbly through the main door, following Steve, trail to the car. The bullet was in and out, he felt it. Pants were soaked, blood running down his calf, but he sprinted down the gravel, blood staining some of the rocks.

Great. First mission, and a party, and Tasha addicting the rich guy, and Steve doing the actual hero shit while he's stuck in the car like a watch dog. Fucking Hydra leanings and kidnapping and he really hates his job.

He nearly collapses into the back of the van they have, Natasha sitting up in the backseat with a blanket over her chest. "Relax, dumbass." She rolled her eyes when Clint frowned at her state. "You idiots got there before anything fun could happen."

"Right, fun." The archer scoffed, the van moved below them. "Don't mind my lateness, just saving you. Again."

"Should I put up the separator?" Steve grumbled from the driver's seat.

Clint scoffed and sat up, leg resting on the seat while he's on the ground. He'll take care of that later. "Next time?" He looked between Steve and Natasha. "I get to seduce the rich guy."


	2. Sewage

_**Thinking about making this a series of little shorts, not only with a **__**damsel**____**Natasha but everyone else, too. May need some inspiration from you guys... ;)**_

* * *

"Pickup's in ten minutes." Clint sighed, hanging his legs over the side of the steep trench. Not the most beautiful of waiting places, but who expected to look for escaped assassins next to a sewage plant?

Natasha stayed standing, watching the night sky. "At least the stars are out, right?" She hummed. "You like those."

"When they're interesting, and not next to a hole that smells like literal shit."

The redhead smirked, tapping his thigh with her foot. "Not that different from-" she was cutoff in her teasing by the sound of a semi-automatic, and the bullets tearing through her back.

Clint immediately drew an arrow, searching the field around them. It only took a movement of black in the scenery to find the three strays, and take them out. Natasha had promptly lost coherent-ness as she rolled down the hill, right into the pool of waste they teased only seconds ago.

The archer groaned but slid down after the heap of Natasha, audibly gagging as he was waist-deep in the muck. Whatever this water contained seeped into his boots, hardening almost around his toes. Every movement caused a squelch of something and the smell intensified, seeping through his nose until he felt like throwing up. The waste leaked through his clothes, gross and warm and squishy and everything that was evil in the world.

"Tasha!" He shouted futilely, rummaging through the sewage before finding a piece of hair that was still red, unlike the rest of her. Coated in muck, he dragged her top half out of watery-type things, and hoisted her up in his arms. Clint dragged them both up the mountain, hearing her breathe and a hand on her pulse as the helicopter finally came into view.

"You so owe me for this one." He mumbled, free hand strapping his bow of his back, and wiping the dirt off of her. Four sources of blood, all coated in thick black stuff, that seemed to slow bleeding if anything else. Though infection's gonna be a bitch.

Meds came pouring out of the landed helicopter, taking over as they controlled bleeding without whatever was clogging the bullet holes before. Clint stayed next to the drop off, glaring as Coulson smirked at him. "I expect a raise." The archer demanded. "And less shittiest-places-to-be-picked-up-at, okay?"

The agent looked to him, then his partner. "Shower first." Was his demands, leading the younger man back to the chopper.


End file.
